


Shoulder to Shoulder

by Chex (provetheworst)



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Chex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw a tumblr post by @thegaywardens that said "okay but maric and loghain bumping shoulders as they walk" and I had to do something.</p><p>So that's what this is. Takes place sometime pre-Gwaren during The Stolen Throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoulder to Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> maric/loghain is suffering. i'm @thetevintersoldier on tumblr. ok that's all.

The third time Maric does it - in the span of maybe twenty minutes of fast travel across the hinterlands - Loghain stops. Maric goes on another half step, then pauses, turning.

 

Loghain’s gaze is cold, but there’s concern in there somewhere. Maric likes to think so, anyway. He trusts Loghain better than almost anyone, barring Rowan, and he’s not precisely distrustful to begin with - even knowing betrayal or death could wait for him at any turn. Maybe it’s not saying a lot, to say he trusts Loghain.

 

“Is something wrong?” Loghain asks him finally, after a lengthy stare-off. “If you’re unwell -”

“Unwell?” Maric asks, rubbing at the scruff he’s allowed to grow on his chin. He’ll shave in a few days, if he gets the chance. He grins, then, brightly. “It’s not like you to be concerned.”

 

To that, Loghain says nothing, and Maric shrugs and keeps walking. Loghain follows suit, trotting for a few steps to catch up and then falling into the same pace as Maric. They walk in time, the sound of their footfalls almost perfectly synchronized. A scant few inches separate them as they walk the narrow path. It’s at Maric’s insistence they patrol this night, though the army has scouts aplenty.

 

Maric’s almost certain at least a few of the Night Elves have followed them, shadowing the pair from afar. He just wanted the opportunity, this night, to survey their surroundings. Loghain disapproved, of course. Maric doesn’t blame him, but he didn’t let his lieutenant dissuade him from the notion, either.

 

The path narrows, bounded in by trees, and Maric lets his shoulder bump companionably againstLoghain’s again.

 

This time Loghain stops him, putting his hands firmly on Maric’s shoulders. Even in the dark shadows cast by the trees, less of the moons’ light shining here, Maric can tell he looks uneasy. “Maric. Have you been injured?”

 

“Injured?” Maric asks, laughing. “When? It’s been weeks since I last rode into battle.” 

 

“You could have fallen off your horse in practice,” Loghain says. The hidden edge of concern is still there, though somewhat lessened. Finally, with a weary, resigned sigh, he says, “You’ve been stumbling all evening. Have you been drinking that dwarven ‘ale’ again, then?”

 

“Stumbling?” Maric asks, almost laughing. He reaches up to remove Loghain’s hands from his shoulders, and keeps his grip on Loghain’s wrists even when their arms are down between them, just to keep Loghain still. “Loghain, please. I’m merely glad of your company.”

 

Loghain glances downward, frown deepening. His hair slips from behind one ear, leaving his face half-covered by it, expression even less readable than before as he turns from what scant light there is. They’ve no torches tonight. One moon is full, the other halfway there, and though the rebels only began camping in their current location recently, Maric would rather like to stay a while. Drawing attention by wandering around at night with torches would be counterproductive at best, disastrous at worst.

 

Maric almost brushes Loghain’s hair aside, but instead steps backwards, almost surprised at himself for how long he’s held Loghain’s wrists.

 

“We should return to camp,” Loghain says. He looks up at the trees, finally tucking his hair back behind his ear. It’s getting long enough that he really either should hold it back with braids or else cut it. Maric is tempted to offer his help - with either, really - but that seems an awkward proposal. 

 

Loghain is more than capable of taking care of himself, and of Maric besides. Maric wants only to repay him, but he thinks it would be - beneath his station, perhaps. Maric shakes his head and grins. “You’re right. Rowan will have my hide if she learns we went off on patrol, of all things. And without her!”

 

“Your hide?” Loghain asks, incredulous. “You’re the Prince. It’s me she’ll be angry with.”

 

“I’ll defend you,” Maric laughs, throwing an arm around Loghain’s shoulders and taking a turn that will lead them back to camp. Their patrol has turned up nothing, and they encounter no trouble on the way back to camp, either. It’s a quarter of a mile before Loghain shrugs off Maric’s arm with a scowl. Maric counts that as a victory, though he couldn’t say why.

 

As soon as they’re back to camp, Loghain vanishes. Maric smiles at his departing back, then sneaks his way back into his tent. A guard sights him, but relaxes on seeing who it is, waving him on. That’s a relief - if he could elude his own guards, then others might manage it, as well. 

 

Undoing his armor, stepping out of all but his smallclothes, Maric considers the night’s walk. The idea strikes him, briefly, that he might order Loghain rest the next day, but he can’t see Loghain appreciating it, no matter how tired he may be after the late night. Loghain has endured far worse than strolls through the woods.

 

Maric finds himself at a loss for what to do. Nothing, probably, is his best course of action. Why he’s so concerned with Loghain’s favor - well. Loghain has saved his life, repeatedly. Loghain has helped the rebel army’s fortunes greatly, becoming his dearest friend besides Rowan. Of course he would want the man’s respect. 

 

Maybe, if this rebellion succeeds, if he ever takes back the throne and crown the usurpers robbed his family of - maybe he can give Loghain land. He imagines Loghain might like that. Maric would far prefer naming Loghain some sort of advisor; keep him safe and close in the castle, there for Maric to turn to whenever he pleases.

 

Childish, that. He lies down for the night, sighing heavily. That the rebellion will succeed seems impossible, sometimes. It’s not worth worrying over just yet. Still, he can’t help but worry for Loghain’s future, and his own.


End file.
